30 - About Time

30

About Time

W henever I hear the word ‘fearless', I never relate it to love.

To me, being fearless is reserved for cliff jumping, changing careers, moving states—things with tangible measures and logical risks.

Love does not have that.

I can't empty it all out on a scale and measure how well I'm doing. There is no meta-data for the areas that need improvement.

Love is a vague leap of faith. A fearless endeavor that you don't even realize you're in until you're in it. I knew I loved Isaiah.

I mean…duh.

I've loved him as long as I've known him. But I didn't expect falling in love with him now—again—to feel like this. Like my heart could leap out of my chest at any moment, like my cheeks might fall off from smiling too hard. I want to tell everyone and simultaneously want to keep it close to my chest.

Falling in love with him now isn't an anxious freefall. It's easy. It feels like walking down a street I've walked a million times, except the sun shines a bit brighter. As comforting as my old favorite songs. Colors are fuller, wind feels like a warm caress on my cheek, and the world spins a little slower. Like it wants me to experience every second.

I love him as fearlessly as I know how.

What I didn't realize, however, was that loving someone so effortlessly would uncover all these other fears and put you face to face with them. Forcing you into flight or fight. It's easy to let myself be when Isaiah is around. I'm unafraid when he's standing in front of me, helping me chase any lingering fears away.

But when he's not…

A million what-ifs keep the small hum of fear alive. It thrums in the background of my mind and sits idle under my skin, waiting until I'm alone or vulnerable to strike.

If I voice it, what if the world tries to take it away?

If I admit how much I love him, what if something happens?

What if I get my heart broken again?

What if all love is, is a distraction?

What if it's all fucking pointless?

It doesn't stop me from loving him. I'm not sure anything could. Just makes my own head a bit of a fucking mess.

I exhale, staring up at the sky before pushing myself back up and repeating the exercise. My knee aches. And it shouldn't. But I keep going. Stretching and working the muscle like it hasn't been in so long. Around me, the field is empty post-practice, aside from Kian. The rest of the team is long gone, and the coaches are in the office.

From his spot on the bench, I know he's watching me. Can probably sense my inner turmoil and is waiting to drop some intelligent, brotherly wisdom. I cross the field twice more in repetitive motions that give my brain a rest. Kian hands me a bottle of water as I approach, the electrolytes inside leaving a salty taste.

"My young grasshopper, what's wrong?"

I snort, collapsing on the grass. "Nothing." The sun shines above, making me squint as I meet Kian's eyes.

"That is not a nothing, nothing. That is a something nothing." Kian studies me, warm, perceptive eyes not giving me any reprieve. "So, you're in love. What's the issue?"

"Kian!" I groan, digging my fingers into my hair.

"Are you insinuating you are not in love?"

I groan again, throwing my back flat against the ground.

"You know, I'm well-versed in the Matthews girls' non-verbal communication." A hand on my cheek causes my eyes to spring open, and he pats it twice more. "Come on, sit up. Sophia will be here soon. Better talk to me while you can." He's got a cheeky grin on his face, looking at me expectantly.

"You're so fucking annoying." I sigh, taking a long sip of water. "Why didn't you tell me it felt like this?"

A love sick look appears in his eyes. "Ah, yes. It feels like your heart is falling apart, right? And you can't focus on anything. Ever. And your hands feel clammy for no reason."

I give him a deadpan look.

"I couldn't tell you. It would ruin the experience," he says, leaning back. "It's such a weird thing, how insane you feel, even though you're in love with someone. Like I'm in love now. Shouldn't I feel on top of the world? And you do, but you also feel like the world's going to fall out from under your feet at any given moment." Kian glances at me, a gentle smile on his face. "But you also feel like laughing at the stupidest fucking things because you can't wait to share it with them. There's so much happening, you're sure that your heart will burst if they aren't around, but it feels like it's going to burst when they are. I'm sure it's different for everybody, but I think the insanity remains.

"I couldn't tell you because you wouldn't have believed me. And it would've ruined all of this," he says, motioning to my obviously distraught body. "And for you two—two peas in a damn pod—I'm sure it's even stranger. You grew up together. You fell in love before the meaning of that sunk in, and now, you're experiencing it as an adult. I'm sure it feels like finding a lost key that was right in front of you the whole time. Which is great but also makes you a teeny bit crazy."

A laugh trickles out, but I settle because he's right. Having Kian put it out there, knowing he felt that way, makes me feel less alone. I begrudgingly say, "Thank you."

"Ah, anytime. Have you told him yet?"

My brows furrow. "What?"

"You Matthews girls have a knack of being a tad bit fearful of accepting good things." Kian crouches down. "It took your sister like two months to tell me that she loved me back. Granted, we were teenagers, but, you know, it's not surprising to me that you haven't. It was one of the best days of my life though, learning that she loved me as much as I loved her," Kian says. "And I'm sure he understands. He loves you, after all. And I know all about being a sucker for a Matthews girl."

I begrudgingly smile up at him. Sophia and I are different in so many ways and similar in others. This being one of them. "I will soon."

"Good." Kian holds out a hand, pulling me up. "I'm serious, Aurora. Anytime, okay?"

"I got it, you big sap."

Kian turns his gentle hold into a playful chokehold as we walk. "You're such a fucking smartass. I oughta kick your ass."

"In your dreams, idiot," I say, kicking my good leg up to kick him as best I can. My heart skips a beat when I see Sophia's car, all for the simple fact that she's dropping me off and that means I'm one minute closer to seeing Isaiah again. Ridiculous.

As if Kian can sense it, he squeezes me. "You're such a love sick fool."

I reach around and give him a push in his abdomen, just enough to get him off me.

"Oof. Asshole," he calls after me as I speed walk ahead of him. Sophia pops the trunk, and I toss my bag in the back before sliding in the rear.

"What is taking my husband so long?" Sophia peeks out the window.

I shrug. "I did punch him in the gut." When she shoots me a look in the rearview, I shrug. "It was gentle." Sophia laughs, and eventually, Kian slides in the front seat, glancing my way.

"What's with the look?" Sophia asks.

"Kian, don't—"

"Your sister's in love," Kian says quickly, and I kick the back of his seat. I cross my arms like a scorned child.

"Asshole."

Soph gives us a bemused look. "You two are so fucking weird." She pulls her sunglasses down, but I feel her gaze in the rearview no matter what. "And yeah, Kian, I know she's in love. She's my sister. And it's about time."

I purse my lips, trying to hide my smile, but what's the use? She's right.

It's about goddamn time.

"Okay, give me your hands," Isaiah says, stepping up behind me. I hold my hands out and watch as he pours olive oil over them and over the bread loafs that have been rising for four hours now. Against my back, he presses his body firm against mine.

"Alright, ready?"

I nod, tipping my head back to look at him. "I think I can handle this on my own, you know."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to my neck. "Not sure. Your cooking skills scare me."

"But this is baking." A shiver dances down my spine at the lingering heat of his lips.

"Ro, shut up." He centers us in front of the focaccia loaves he made and instructs me that all we're gonna do is make dimples in the dough. Behind us, sauce is simmering on the stove, the smell of tomato, onion, and garlic permeating the space. In the living room, Isaiah turned the space into a fortress. The electric fireplace is going, emitting heat in pulsing waves. An air mattress has been blown up in front of the couch, decorated with a million pillows, and the small glow of a few candles offers a little bit of light.

Isaiah threads our fingers together and begins pressing them into the dough. It's sticky but easy, like he said. Standing here, dimpling bread with him, I know I could do this for the rest of my life. Heat traverses over the surface of my skin at the affectionate intimacy in this moment. The press of his body against mine, the warmth of him surrounding me, the little puffs of air from his breath on my neck.

When it's been properly dimpled, Isaiah pulls our hands back. "Good job."

"You just wanted to touch me."

He laughs against my skin, blowing a raspberry against my neck. "I always want to touch you."

My stomach does a little dip and dance as we wash our hands and then sprinkle salt and rosemary over the two loaves. I hop up on the counter and watch as he takes over the kitchen again.

Even though he's cooking, we're celebrating his continued book deals. His second will come out in the late spring of next year, and he's signed for two more.

Earlier, I surprised him with his favorite chocolate cake and cheesy party hats. It was dumb and silly, but when his eyes lit up at the hat placed over my curls, I knew he loved it. I even printed out the deal from Publishers Marketplace and laminated it for him. I hated that he celebrated by himself for his first book. As far as I'm concerned, he's never going to celebrate alone again.

I take a sip of my apple juice, my eyes tracking every movement he makes. There's a smoothness to them, a naturalness as he moves around. Moments later, he approaches me with a spoon. "Here," he says, and I taste the sauce, licking my lips. Isaiah leans in, his tongue swiping right over my lip. My breath hitches as heat blooms in my chest and spreads out in waves over my quickly flushing skin.

"Delicious," he murmurs against my lips, pecking them once more before pulling back.

I don't let him get far, wrapping my fingers around his wrist to pull him back. With his hands on the counter next to my hips and my legs trapping him in, we're equally caged in by one another. Reaching up, I run my thumb along his jawline.

"I'm really proud of you." I rock forward, bringing our lips together again. Isaiah's hand presses against my back, toying with the band of my sweats.

"It's nothing."

I frown. "Ah. That's not true. It's something. It's big and exciting." Isaiah rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off. "Stop it, Isaiah. You can do that with anyone else but not me."

His eyes deepen as he exhales. "You never did let me hide."

"Never will." I kiss him again.

"Thank you." Isaiah's dimple fights to appear. But he turns the focus to me. "How are you feeling about tomorrow? About the MRI?"

"Nervous. But it is what it is. Hopefully, we're on the right track," I say, shrugging. "And if they're not, I'll deal with it." A thread of fear burns hot for a moment. At hearing something that I don't want to—wondering if I could handle it if I do.

"We." Isaiah brings my eyes back to him. "We'll deal with it together." Gentle hands cup my cheeks, holding his gaze to mine until I nod. He presses our lips together in a kiss that is comforting and steady, both of us telling each other we're here—always.

He leans back against me, and I wrap my arms around him, finding the crook of his neck and tucking in. His hand is wrapped around my leg, holding himself to me as I hold him. I exhale, feeling lighter than a cloud.

This is what love is. This is what I always wanted love to be. Simple, filled with tiny moments of affection and intimacy, like teaching someone how to make bread or celebrating someone's accomplishments, even when they try to diminish them. In all the relationships that I cherish, the thing that makes them so full is the ability to share these quiet moments. I think we are taught that love is these grand moments of declarations and moments of pure bliss. That love should be loud and happy.

But sometimes, most times, it's quiet. It's personal and compassionate. Tenderhearted and faithful. Real love is there, even when you aren't perfect. It's there with no expectations and no conditions. And it's there even when you feel you don't deserve it. It's loving someone, even when you're annoyed with them or when the world feels like it's going to crumble out from underneath you. The love still remains.

Love may be different for everyone. For some, it may be as bright and as blinding as the sun. For others, as gentle as a stream. For me, it is the constant of the stars in the sky. Even after the moon disappears and the sky turns blue, I know they're there. They are constant. At times, more beautiful than others, more distinct. But they are always there. Sometimes they are drowned out by bright lights and cityscapes, and other times, they're the entire night sky. As expansive as the world allows.

And Isaiah loves me like that. Constantly, quietly.

And at times, more extensively than I ever thought possible.

Isaiah is my night sky and every star within.